IWhen I was a little girl, I wanted to be a princess
And wear pink and sparkles
And lacy fairy wings.
But the pink is empty
And the sparkles that I dropped
Are only water and light.
I'd rather hold a smooth black stone
Or a brown flannel scarf
Or a tidy silver chain…
I am expected to wear pink
And a sweet false smile./I
"Silk Petals, Dry Leaves"
1.
Alice shivered in the sudden wind as she poked open the front door, and she clutched the shawl pulled tightly over her shoulders. She stepped outside, still wearing her fuzzy blue house slippers, to check the flowerbed. Pale shoots already poked through the white-speckled dirt. The flowers, at least, thought it was spring.
Well, it had felt like spring until the wind had hit her in the face. Wasn't it time yet? She wandered down the dirt path in front of the house and up the wooden stairs into the garden, fully aware that she was outdoors in her pajamas and inside slippers, and not really caring. None of the neighbors were outside, and she did not care what they thought, anyway; was it really so strange to wear pajamas in the early morning? As for the dirt, well, she'd brush off her slippers when she got inside; and dirt was healthy, anyway. What was good for the flowers was fine with Alice too.
Here and there a crocus plant threatened to bloom; but the garden was still mostly full of dry and crumbled twigs, still asleep. A few premature dandelions by the edge of the pond delighted her. She knelt down to look at the slow orange fish wiggling through the icy water. Soon, perhaps, there would be frogs and bugs and all sorts of interesting things. The life would come.
Such a slow spring it was, still quiet and cold. Last week it had snowed. Sighing, she abandoned the speckled fish to their finny thrashing and stood up, shaking bits of dead leaves and clumps of dirt from her pajama legs. Had it been this way last year, or was it getting worse?
Almost unconsciously, she glanced up at the towering skyscraper that dominated the view to the north. It was probably the reactors. Here in the center of the city, she was cut off from true nature; killing spikes pierced the ground in a ring around her home, and drew the lifeblood of the planet from the very garden in her own backyard. Each year it grew colder, and the spring came slower, and little by little nature died all around her.
But what could she do?
Sighing, she hurried back towards the house, the biting wind suddenly too cold to bear anymore. She threw herself on the floor and plunged her arms and legs under the cover of the heated table, rubbing her dry hands furiously to keep them warm.
"Alice!" called a distant voice from above her head.
"Yes, Mom?"
"Did you look for crocuses?"
"Yes; there aren't any, though."
"Still none?"
"When there are, you'll be the first to know." Alice decided she would dig up a crocus and put it in a flowerpot for her mother's room. It would be a lovely surprise. It was such a shame her mother couldn't get up to see the garden. Perhaps when it was very warm and the chill would not endanger her health, Alice could take her out for a look; that would calm her. "You know I'll be right here."
And wear pink and sparkles
And lacy fairy wings.
But the pink is empty
And the sparkles that I dropped
Are only water and light.
I'd rather hold a smooth black stone
Or a brown flannel scarf
Or a tidy silver chain…
I am expected to wear pink
And a sweet false smile./I
"Silk Petals, Dry Leaves"
1.
Alice shivered in the sudden wind as she poked open the front door, and she clutched the shawl pulled tightly over her shoulders. She stepped outside, still wearing her fuzzy blue house slippers, to check the flowerbed. Pale shoots already poked through the white-speckled dirt. The flowers, at least, thought it was spring.
Well, it had felt like spring until the wind had hit her in the face. Wasn't it time yet? She wandered down the dirt path in front of the house and up the wooden stairs into the garden, fully aware that she was outdoors in her pajamas and inside slippers, and not really caring. None of the neighbors were outside, and she did not care what they thought, anyway; was it really so strange to wear pajamas in the early morning? As for the dirt, well, she'd brush off her slippers when she got inside; and dirt was healthy, anyway. What was good for the flowers was fine with Alice too.
Here and there a crocus plant threatened to bloom; but the garden was still mostly full of dry and crumbled twigs, still asleep. A few premature dandelions by the edge of the pond delighted her. She knelt down to look at the slow orange fish wiggling through the icy water. Soon, perhaps, there would be frogs and bugs and all sorts of interesting things. The life would come.
Such a slow spring it was, still quiet and cold. Last week it had snowed. Sighing, she abandoned the speckled fish to their finny thrashing and stood up, shaking bits of dead leaves and clumps of dirt from her pajama legs. Had it been this way last year, or was it getting worse?
Almost unconsciously, she glanced up at the towering skyscraper that dominated the view to the north. It was probably the reactors. Here in the center of the city, she was cut off from true nature; killing spikes pierced the ground in a ring around her home, and drew the lifeblood of the planet from the very garden in her own backyard. Each year it grew colder, and the spring came slower, and little by little nature died all around her.
But what could she do?
Sighing, she hurried back towards the house, the biting wind suddenly too cold to bear anymore. She threw herself on the floor and plunged her arms and legs under the cover of the heated table, rubbing her dry hands furiously to keep them warm.
"Alice!" called a distant voice from above her head.
"Yes, Mom?"
"Did you look for crocuses?"
"Yes; there aren't any, though."
"Still none?"
"When there are, you'll be the first to know." Alice decided she would dig up a crocus and put it in a flowerpot for her mother's room. It would be a lovely surprise. It was such a shame her mother couldn't get up to see the garden. Perhaps when it was very warm and the chill would not endanger her health, Alice could take her out for a look; that would calm her. "You know I'll be right here."